


Only My Dreams

by Tarlan



Series: Dreamers [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-07
Updated: 2005-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter was drawn to Alex, and knew he was loved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only My Dreams

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams._

W B Yeates, The Cloths of Heaven

****

The painkiller wore off slowly, leaving behind a dull ache that seemed to settle deep within his severed bone. He knew he ought to be used to that by now but it still managed to catch him off guard sometimes, though most notably when the weather turned cold and damp. Opening his eyes, he saw the morning sunlight shining through a crack in the curtain, catching sight of the motes of dust dancing in the tiny shaft of light. He followed the path of the light with his eyes, frowning when it striped across a muscular thigh clad in loose, pale blue cotton. His eyes drifted up the t-shirt clad torso and he smiled wryly when he reached the sleeping man's face, knowing Walter was going to need some painkillers of his own -- once he woke with a crick in the neck.

Warmth suffused Alex along with momentary embarrassment when it occurred to him that Walter must have slept there for the rest of the night, watching over him. Now it seemed it was his turn to appraise the sleeper, unable to resist taking in his fill of the muscular frame, knowing he would not find an ounce of spare fat on Skinner's body. The man had not allowed a desk job to lull him into too soft a life, probably still taking advantage of the gymnasium beneath the FBI headquarters just as Alex recalled from those scant few months while he worked there with Mulder. That thought triggered another as memories of Dana Scully and Fox Mulder intruded upon his quiet observations.

They had been here last night but he had been in too much pain to care, almost wishing Walter had not been there to stop Mulder from beating him into blessed unconsciousness. Instead, Scully had been remarkably gentle with him considering that she still held him accountable for her sister's murder... and rightly so. Although he had not been the one to pull the trigger, he had been there. By the law of the land, he was an accomplice to the crime and, therefore, just as guilty as Cardinal.

Part of Alex wondered if Walter knew that. He sighed softly. Walter was neither a fool nor an idealist like Mulder. He lived under few illusions, which made Walter's willingness to have him in his life all the more confusing.

His thoughts drifted again, back to last night when he told Walter they had nothing in common but everything he mentioned had been so trivial. In the light of a new day, he knew they had deeper and far more meaningful things in common. They both were battle scarred and had faced death head on. They had seen things, incredible things and terrifying things. They had put their lives on the line for strangers on too many occasions, even knowing they would gain no recognition from a world kept in blissful ignorance.

Alex snorted softly. There had been a time when he truly had believed. There had been a time when he had been full of hope and the resilience of youth, determined to change the world. Young and idealistic.

Naive and foolish, he thought but he intervening years had shattered all those illusions. Now, simply surviving from one day to the next was his only true goal. Yet, looking at the man sprawled close by his bedside in the uncomfortable chair, Alex could see the possible realization of one of his lost dreams. The dream of belonging with someone, of finding love and affection in another's heart, mind and arms. Perhaps even a dream of normality though he had to admit that he doubted he would ever be in a normal relationship.

Alex gave a wry smile at that thought. Having a normal life was one of those stupid dreams that only came to him when his life was too full of the bizarre and dangerous. In truth, he had few regrets beyond the loss of his arm and Mulder's friendship. Both were crippling blows though he had learned to live without Mulder, only contacting him when his options were limited, or nonexistent. His arm, though, still caused him pain and despair. Even though his prosthetic had been a high-end model, the scar tissue from the amputation chafed. He knew that what he needed was professional surgery to correct the amateur hack job done by the Russian peasants but Alex had spent most of the last few years either on the run or watching his back. During those years he dared not let down his guard, not even to ease his suffering, figuring he was better alive and in pain than dead.

So where did Walter Skinner fit into his life?

Alex was damned if he knew or even understood what made him fixate on the FBI's assistant director. Sometimes, when he dared to stop and think about it, he was almost convinced that it should have been Mulder who attracted him but, for some inexplicable reason, Alex had been drawn to the stability that Walter represented. Loyal and dependable Walter Skinner compared to erratic and flighty Fox Mulder. Alex had always known where he stood with Walter, known enough to trust him in his darkest hour, with his body bloodied and abused. And everything that had happened since the rape proved that he had been right in giving that trust.

Was it love or need that brought him to Walter?

Alex wanted to believe that it was need that had driven him; a need to survive, but he had long given up on trying to deceive himself. What was that saying...? Denial was a river in Egypt. He laughed softly at the play on words but the laugh was cut off within an almost imperceptible sob. Denial had let him believe the lies Spender wielded about the Consortium, and how it was working for the good of humanity. Denial had put him in a room, watching in horror as Cardinal gunned down an innocent woman whose hair had been as red as her sister's. Denial had cost him all of his dreams, or so it had seemed just a few short weeks ago.

As he continued to gaze at the sleeping man, Alex knew that his dream of belonging was within his grasp. All he had to do was find the courage to reach out and make it work. At that moment, Walter's face creased in pain as he moved his neck stiffly. His hand rose to his tender neck, his dark eyes opening to fall upon Alex instantly. Alex gave a small smile as Walter cast aside his pain as his eyes appraised Alex with concern.

"How are you feeling?"

"I should be asking you that," Alex replied, indicating towards his own neck meaningfully.

Walter sighed and rocked his head from side to side to ease muscles that had stiffened during sleep. His face still held the drawn quality of fatigue, having slept uneasily, and Alex decided to take a deep breath and, metaphorically, jump over the side. He swept back the cover on his bed and stared at Walter, willing him to understand what he was offering. Silence stretched between them and Alex felt a moment of doubt, that he had read it all wrong, that Walter had been offering platonic friendship rather than the full package but then Walter nodded; just one tiny nod of his head, just one blink of his eyelashes and the slightest touch of a smile playing about his lips. He moved slowly, grimacing at the pain from abused muscle and slid onto the bed partially facing Alex. His arms reached out, his intention clear and, with a ragged sigh, Alex reached out for his dream, eyes closing in relief as he lay his head on Walter's shoulder. His heart broke a little from knowing he could not wrap his arm across the strong, firmly muscled body, reciprocating the one wrapped around him. He did not have a hand to burrow beneath the t-shirt, or fingers to trail across the dusting of chest hair and toy with a nipple. All he could do was lay still, listening to the steady beat of the heart pounding beneath him, letting it lull him to sleep as Walter's hand and fingers soothed him with broad firm circles upon his back.

***

As Alex's breaths softened in sleep, Walter continued with the small circling motions on the strong back, concentrating on the silken flesh beneath his fingertips. He had seen the fear within the wary green eyes that Alex was taking a giant leap of faith when he pulled back the covers and, for one moment, Walter had faltered, knowing that he would have to take that same leap. Yet, he wanted this despite all the obstacles that would lie in his path for, no matter what promises Spender made, the chances of him allowing Alex to live were not good. Alex knew too much, had seen too much and had already proven that he would not turn away from the fight even when that meant his death. Choosing Alex was not the easy path that Walter had planned following his retirement from the FBI. Choosing Alex meant choosing to stay in the game, choosing to continue the fight for Humanity's future, but when did either of them have that choice? They had both made a decision many years ago to resist the colonization of Earth rather than serve the Consortium and the Colonists, and each of them had made a different contribution to that fight.

Admittedly, Alex's contribution had edged towards the darker side, willingly sacrificing the few to save the many -- and even willing to sacrifice the one, himself.

Walter knew Alex had suffered for the path taken for he could see it in the abused and mutilated flesh and in the guarded eyes that feared the closeness of human companionship, deliberately pushing all others away. Alex had broken that cardinal rule for Walter. He had allowed himself to desire, to want, to love, opening himself up for a pain greater than death -- loss and grief. Alex had allowed his one weakness to gain a foothold inside him, Walter Skinner -- his kryptonite, and Spender had almost destroyed him because of it.

Walter took a deep, steadying breath and tightened his hold on the man in his arms, silently wishing he could feel Alex's hand upon him rather than the cruelly truncated arm but not for his own gratification. Alex had paid dearly for his decision to fight rather than serve the needs of the Consortium unquestioningly. He had forfeited his place of protection among those Old Men many years ago, had those Old Men but known it, casting his lot in with the Rebel Resistance and their human allies. He had walked a lonely road; slowly destroying the Consortium from the inside with no back-up, no safety net and no hope of survival should those Old Men discover his duplicity. Except, one of them had figured it out and Walter pondered on Spender's duplicity in hiding Alex's betrayal from those Old Men.

If he was not such a good judge of character then Walter might have debated the possibility that Spender, too, was a double agent, secretly working for the Resistance but that cancerous old man held loyalties only to himself. He had allowed Alex to live for one reason alone, to keep a watch on him and to draw him back into the game when it suited his purpose. Walter knew that he would be held hostage to Alex's cooperation, and Alex would be held hostage to his but there was no turning back now. Spender knew of Alex's weakness, and of his. All either of them could hope for was a little time, for a chance to live part of a dream before it was crushed beneath the needs of the many once more -- or in Spender's case, the one.

When he next awoke the room was in shadow, the sun having moved on in its relentless journey across the sky, leaving only indirect light filtering through the crack in the curtain. He wondered what had awoken him, casting his eyes around the room, hunting the deepening shadows in the corners and listening intently for sounds in the world beyond this warm bed but met only emptiness and silence. Then Alex murmured softly, breathing soft words into Walter's neck in an unknown language. One leg twitched, sliding deeper between Walter's as Alex burrowed into Walter's embrace, the hard flesh of an autonomous erection nudging against Walter's thigh, bringing his own desire coursing through him.

Walter smiled and restarted the gentle soothing circles of his hand upon the lean yet muscular back, enjoying the soft moan of pleasure that fell as a sigh from the parted lips. Incredibly long, dark lashes flickered as the sleeping man spiraled back to alertness, finally parting to reveal eyes darkened by sleep. Alex raised his head, wariness fading when his eyes met Walter's replaced by a shock of desire as the movement rocked his lower body against Walter. Before he could move away, Walter rolled them over until he had Alex on his back, pressed into the bed by Walter's weight. Not allowing any time for protests, Walter dipped his head and caught at the beautifully bowed lips, nipping at the lower lip playfully before pressing deeper, more demandingly. He grinned as Alex's one hand came up to cup his face, fingers dancing across his cheek as Alex's lips parted in submission. Walter flicked inside, seeking out the full taste and feel of this man, wanting to know every possible inch of his flesh, inside and out. He moaned his appreciation as an agile tongue coiled with his while those scrabbling fingers grasped at his ear and the short hairs behind it.

Walter pulled back and stared down into the desire-darkened face, at the swollen lips blushed from the bruising kiss, at the flushed cheeks that gave color to the otherwise pale face. He could not deny that Alex was more than handsome; he was flawed but beautiful, like a fallen angel. Taking most of his weight on one forearm, Walter leaned down to kiss Alex again, allowing room to drag up Alex's t-shirt so he could brush his free hand across Alex's smooth chest, rubbing across one nipple, and feeling the bud tighten beneath the onslaught. Alex arched up with a gasp, his hard erection jabbing and sliding against Walter's, separated only by the thin cotton of pajama bottoms, sending licks of pleasure coursing through Walter's body. He pressed harder, wanting to increase the friction between their bodies, offering his own gasps of pleasure when Alex reached up with his one good hand beneath Walter's t-shirt to rub at an exposed, sensitive nipple.

Part of Walter wanted to stop, wanted to pull back so he could tear the tormenting cloth from his lover's body, from his own body. He wanted to feel the heat of flesh on flesh, to feel the silky skin pressed against his. Next time, he promised silently. Next time he would strip the clothes from his lover's body and drink his fill of vulnerable, exposed flesh before slaking his pleasure but, this time, the need was too great, the desire too strong. He could not stop, letting his hand sink beneath the waistband of the loose cotton and curling his fingers around the thick shaft. He groaned in pleasure when Alex reciprocated and slowly, together, they brought each other to release, swallowing each other's cries of passion as hot juice splattered over busy fingers.

The kiss gentled, becoming licks instead of bites as they floated back down to earth, fingers still wrapped loosely around slowly softening erections.

Eventually, Walter pulled away, flopping onto his back beside Alex, his ragged breathing smoothing, mirroring Alex's deep breaths. Post-coital bliss gave way to discomfort as cooling semen, soaked into his light pajamas, pressed damply against his thighs and abdomen. He turned his head at the gentle laugh from Alex, catching the sated contentment in the soft green eyes.

"Next time without the clothes," Alex breathed.

Walter grinned back, knowing there would be a next time, and a time after that, and a time after that for as long as the rest of the world allowed. He was enough of a pragmatist to know that they lived on borrowed time but, while they lived, at least they could hold onto one small dream.

THE END


End file.
